Interview With a Sampire
by Arychan
Summary: Sam is a vampire who is aiming to kill some of the chosen, or turn them to vampires. **YAOI** Yamaken


Body

~*Interview With a Sampire*~ 

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*Digimon is copyright its respectful owners. I DO NOT OWN IT. 

**Also, this fic is an original. I can't see why you would want to, but please don't try to pass it off as your own. I worked ever so hard on it. ;) In other terms, if you steal it, Evy will beat you over the head with Sam. 

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Oh, and the Kurt Cobain part, Don't get pissed at me for that. I'm a HUGE Nirvana fan, 'nkay, as in I LIKE THEM. I have 5 posters of him (as in Kurt Donald Cobain . . . I think he was a hottie before the little . . .ahem, accident, but LETS NOT GO THERE, 'NKAY?) in my room. I don't think Yama is better than Kurt (despite Ken's opinion ^^) 

I think Kurt's copyright David Geffen or Nirvana or End of Music or Courtney Love or whatever . . . ACK! I don't own Kurt's name (Or Kurt, for that matter!!! *_*) 

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*Part One* 

Ken's Story 

Countless days have gone by, and countless times I have asked myself why this has to be the way it has subsided to be. Why so many lies and abnormalities have rendered the course of my everyday life, and why sanity has veered off course in this house. Why me? 

The date is the fifteenth of October and currently I am in hiding form and evil in which I can't possibly begin to describe. All I can say is that I loved my brother. But no more. 

Perhaps I am delusional. Perhaps I am insane. Perhaps the encounter that I have had with one, the undead, was only a mere dream (Lord, I wish and hope that's the case. That I am only caught in a dream realm and will awaken next to my darling Yama once more.) The only truth I know to be is that wherever I am, wherever I go, I will not survive for long. 

It all started, for the record, about a month ago. Now that I remember, it was exactly a month ago, a beautiful Autumn day, I was walking to meet my sweet Yamato-Chan at the park. I could sense a dark vibe upon the creeping of night onto the canvas of the sky, but I rested all negative thoughts towards the back of my head. This was what I usually did, seeing that my past as the Kaiser was tormenting, and blackness was no longer my way. I hated to think about it. Cavities of pain would reopen, which was exactly what I didn't want. But I'm straying from the point. 

I found my Yama on a bench, mumbling lightly, a song he had claimed to have written but seemingly sounded as if I had heard it somewhere before. 

"Rashes of love..." 

I choked inwardly. The way his canary hair fell across his poisonously blue eyes was amazing. It made me, with my stick straight and limply thin purple hair and unusually deep colored eyes, feel insignificant standing next to his beauty. 

I bit my lip. He had always looked the sexiest when he tried not to be. 

"Rashes of pain..." 

I wanted so for him to keep singing. But I opened my mouth. 

"Yama-Chan..." 

"Rashes of . . .Ken?" 

Yes. Rashes of Ken. I was a rash, and at that moment as he looked upon me, I wondered why he would ever want anything to do with me. 

"I'm sorry." I guffawed, trying to mask my inner desire, my inner passion I felt for him. He had always been so calm around me. So calm, it felt, that he couldn't possibly care about me, let alone know me as his BOYFRIEND. Yet despite this fact, I knew he felt something. I mean, anything that beautiful had to have a heart. 

It was then when Yama put down his Takamine Jasmine acoustic guitar and rested it upon the park bench on which he sat. 

"I'm not exactly the next Kurt Cobain." He told me. 

He was right. He wasn't the next Kurt Cobain. He was better to me that Kurt ever was. Although there was a slight resemblance . . . oh I GIVE UP!! 

Back to the main idea of the story (I seem to stray from the main ideas constantly), Yama stood, and as he did, his black silk polo shirt glimmered in the light of the sunset and his pants- his soft pants of crushed suede glorified that tight ass, ahem, pardon me, of his. And as he closed in on my lips for that unforgettably sloppy kiss, my hands couldn't help but trail down past that pleasing silk and onto the suede covering his rear. 

"Ken . . ." Whispered Yama, nibbling my ear. 

"Mmmph?" I asked. 

Yama's voice became even lower that before, to a point in which it was so soft that only I could hear it as we stood there in an arousing mouth-to-ear state. 

"I love you..." He seemed to purr. Purr, yes, my sweet kitten Yamato-Chan. 

"And I you, Matt." 

Yama's face shifted from naughty to long. "What the HELL did you call me? NO ONE CALLS me..." He coughed out the name "Matt anymore. That's so incredibly unconventional, and I can't bare to hear it ever since Taichi and I broke it off," 

"I . . . I . . ." Hurt by my error and confused, I stuttered "I'm so sorry, sweetness! I forgot that you hate that..." 

"Ken" Said Yama. "I can be a good kitty when you're nice to me..." He leaned onto my neck and gave it a lick. "Or I can bite!" 

All of the sudden, he sank his teeth into me, laughing evilly at the 'love bite' I had just received. 

"Yama, you know I hate that Dracula cat shit." I growled. "It creeps me out. Come on, let's go back to my place for a little fun..." 

And this was how it started. We had no idea that he watched from afar... 

*** 

All was quiet as we lay awake in bed, our cold, sweaty bodies close together in passionate fusion. Yama's soft skin upon my own was like and indescribably fine material in its own right. 

He took a deep breath and gazed into my eyes. "Don't ever leave me." He whimpers innocently, tracing my cheek with his beautiful hand. Upon his touch, I feel, form wear of excessive bass guitar play, deep callouses atop the tips of his long, thin fingers. 

"You have beautiful hands." I tell him lovingly, kissing the tip of his index finger. In the background played a soft unplugged version of Nirvana's "Pennyroyal Tea"- an irony in itself after thinking of Kurt earlier on. 

"Sit and drink pennyroyal teeaaa 

Steal the life that's inside of," 

Yama coughed. 

"Meeeeee, 

Sit and drink pennyroyal teeeaaa, 

I'm anemic royal-tyyy" 

He whispered as he cradled me. "I should really get going. It's not that I want to, but, my band, and If I miss practice because of this again, I'm gone." 

Watching indulgently as he stood and pulled his pants on over himself, I gawked at the incredible body I had so recently had the honor of holding in my arms, and me myself had been held in. 

Yamato looks at the studio apartment around us. "I'll be home in about an hour and a half. Wait for me." He says. 

"Forever." I replied, throwing him a shirt and covering my midriff area with a black sheet of satin. 

Yes, Yamato Ishida was my only love, and as I rested there that night, I thought of the passion we shared most every night. Yama was always so potent, so true, so raw. When we were together, no one else in the world seemed to matter. 

Soon after in thought, my contemplation switched from a wonderful thought such as Yama to my recent encounter with rejection. I whispered to myself, "Damn you, Daisuke. all I've ever wanted was for you to feel a fraction of what I feel for you still. You broke my heart. But it's not all your fault." 

For a second, the pillow I held between my arm and stomach became Daisuke, and I caressed it tenderly as if it was really his chestnut hair and chiseled chest. 

"Hikari Yagami. Takeru Takaishi. I hate you both. You two have each other. Why did you have to drag Dais down with you?!? You stupid-" I threw a punch to the pillow I once cradled. "BITCH! You . . . you lowlife, cock-sucking traitors! WHY DAIS!? WHY NOT MIYAKO, OR IORI, OR EVEN TAICHI FOR THAT MATTER?!" 

I could feel my strength depleting, and tears well upon my face. "I should be happy with Yamato! I love him- I really do! But . . . I can't have you Daisuke . . . I . . . C . . . Cuh . . . can't h . . . H . . . have y . . . You . . ." 

It was pathetic. I couldn't even breathe. I dozed off to sleep and had nightmares about this. About that brown haired, somewhat masculine girl and her lover, Yama's own brother, playing a game of manipulation with Dais' head. But the next morning I awoke to Yama beaming down at me, light glimmering off his earring. 

"You're a late sleeper." He laughed, handing me a glass of grapefruit juice. "Drink up." 

It woke me up all right. The tart taste of that horrid juice mixed with his almost sickeningly out-of-character cheery morning attitude (which, I still suspect, was result of coffee) sickened my eyes almost as much as it did my stomach. It was then, though, when I noticed the double gash upon his neck. The right side. 

"Did I do that?" I inquired gingerly, rapping my fingers upon the bite mark. I didn't remember to think that Yama had shot up on Heroin the last evening, and that could be an allergy, or whatever... 

"I . . . Don't . . . remember" Yama said, looking upon me. "Probably did. I mean, it doesn't hurt or anything, but it's kinda just . . . there." 

"Sorry, Yama-Chan." 

"It's all right!" He snapped. "I've already TOLD you that I'm FINE! It DOESN'T HURT, all right?!?!" 

I was stunned. Yamato had never snapped at me before now. I could tell that something had occurred . . . but I had never seen such a thing. I knew Yama had changed, but how I just couldn't put my finger on it. Oh well. I'm dumb. 

Yama brushed my hand away from his marking very hostily, then snapping out of what seemed to be a trance. 

"Did I snap at you?" He inquired sweetly. 

Like a mad dog you did, you crazy son-of-a-bitch. 

Instead of saying what I really felt, I merely hugged my lover close to me, so close I could feel his pulse against my chest. He looked up at me, then giving me a look like no other I had seen in my life. That look of the strongest hunger for love. That look of innocence in his soft blue eyes, which pierced my heart and lingered there for what seemed to be an everlasting moment. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you, my love." Whispered Yamato, still gazing up adoringly at me. 

I felt unworthy. But then again, I always felt unworthy of his love, him so incredibly voluptuous, so very desire-striking, and me such and insignificant, worthless, manic-depressive ex-bipolar. After this look, my feeling of disbelief in our love was erased and I knew he couldn't live without me, his younger lover. 

In an attempt to excite my Yama, I tossed my navy-colored hair into the wind of the fan and slowly removed my shirt, as slowly as I could with such a beautiful creature lying on my leg. I wasn't good at that kind of thing, or at least trying to be, (probably because the maniacal antics of my ex-Kaiser self had humbled me.) 

For a moment I thought my attempts would be fruitless. But then, Yamato sat up. He had already been unclothed long before me, so he leaned into my embrace. I ran my fingers as lightly as possible over those chiseled features of his-his toned abdominals. His shapely arms. His strong chest. Once again, I felt as if I didn't deserve him, and this was exactly what I said. 

"No Ken." He coaxed in reply, then kissing my shoulders. "I don't deserve such a sexy," He kissed my shoulder. "Sweet," He then kissed my forehead. "Loving man like you." Again, his voice depleted to a whisper, and into my hair he mumbled something idle. 

I couldn't help the soft stutters that were spewing from my big mouth. The were the most pointless and dumbfounded, "I love you's ever. Yet, trapped between the maze of his brisk smell and satiny skin, his window-cleaner eyes and thick golden hair, I could do nothing to restrain myself. Yamato was godlike, and like a god needs to be, I wanted to worship him. It was almost as if I was called to establish Yama-ism, in which Yama was the only object of worship. I then wished every man could feel the passion I felt when holding him. 

Before I could think a second more, Yamato pulled be down atop him and pressed his lips to mine. His taste was sweet, with an air of bitterness, like no other but his infamous personality. Even his kiss was too natural, cool, and casual for the like of anyone shallow or misunderstandingly insensitive. After the long interval we called a kiss, his lips found my chest, and they lingered there for a few seconds in between quick yet sincerely intense back rubs. 

"I . . . I . . . oh Yama..." I sputtered stupidly, scratching his back with my left nails. 

Yama laughed and moved his lips down further, beginning to lick my stomach. 

"That feels so good . . . don't stop . . . don't ever stop . . ." 

Yama, laughing once more, replied with a soft "Good. I'm glad you like it." 

Before he could continue any further, we were stunned by the smash of a vase in the blackness of the studio apartment, which came from somewhere in the west corner. 

I grew suspicious of a mouse or some other unwanted vermin. This was Uptown Manhattan we resided in, not some slum in which this sort of thing was accepted. Walking slowly across the solid Oak floors, as not to scare our little intruder, I found, along with the vase, two new roses, one red, one with white petals soaked in crimson blood, in an accompanying pool if it. 

I froze exactly where I was, unaware that Yama was calling to me from across the room. But he soon joined me in motionlessness after seeing what I had seen. 

"Who's Sam?" He finally inquires. Stunned, I turned to him, wondering how he knew that name. 

Yamato points to the bloody pool, where inside, finger-scratched, was written 

"SAM". 

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PART II 

The Tea Party 

"I . . . Osamu . . . Erm . . . The . . ." 

I had no clue what to say. the scent of blood traveled up to my nose and lingered in the spot where I stood. It was sickening. 

"It can't be what it seems to be. I mean, Osamu passed YEARS ago, and I haven't thought of him there since . . . It . . . it's probably a joke." My voice calmed as Yama wrapped his shaky, sweat-beaded arms gently around my neck. I was confused about this, and who, if this was a prank, would play such a horribly mean joke on one, myself. 

"Ken-Chan," He whimpered out of naturally unknown fear for what was to come. "What is this all about?" 

I spoke not a word. Not a single word. 

"If it's stalkers because I'm a rock idol..." 

I could not believe what that self centered pig had just told me. Out of pure insanity, out of raw rage, I exploded. 

"HOW could you think such a thing!? The world does NOT revolve around you, Ishida! Besides, you don't even knowwhosamis . . ." 

The last collection of words, jumbled up into a single breath of choke worthy tears lingered within my throat in one big lump. It took forever to swallow. 

"I'm sorry Ken . . . I don't . . . I never had to deal . . . Who would do this?" 

Automatically, I wanted to blame Takeru and Hikari for the corruption of my inner flame, and the torment cursed upon me by the two. But my instinct told me that something was wrong, very wrong. 

The only others with knowledge of my brother were my parents, and my close friends Miyako Inoue and the wonderful Dais. But I had only brought it up briefly in a conversation at a far off Christmas party. 

Yama tickled my chin softly and kissed my cheek. "Don't worry, darling. It'll probably blow over. It's probably just ," 

I could soon feel his large, soft hand beginning to make its way down my upper body. 

"A phase." He finished, his hand trailing lower, lower, until it rested upon my lowest stomach region. "Come back to bed." 

"All right. I just hope the maid comes to clean this mess up soon, I sure as Hell am not going to touch it. God knows, I could develop a disease or whatever." 

"Me neither." Added my lover. 

With these words, we headed off to bed. 

*** 

While Yama slept peacefully, I tossed and turned, wary of the oddity that had come upon this morning. I wanted to forget it as Yama did. But instead, it lingered like the scent of blood I had so recently smelled. Osamu was my brother... my brother whose death I felt partly responsible for. 

"Sam is dead." I reassured myself. "Stone cold dead." 

Suddenly, a gust of wind howled into the apartment from the thick velvet curtains covering the windows, their golden tassels winding and the burgundy material whipping. By now I was spooked. I had distinctly remembered shutting and locking the window before bed... how could it have opened? I lay awake again in disturbance. 

I missed Sam. Although attention-grubbing and cruel to me at times, there were points within our relationship when he was almost loving. Like Yamato did, Osamu showed his love in a subtle way, without all the frill and fluff of conventional love. But then, I remembered the very last look he had given me. It was a cold, burning look in which I could see the inner evil of his soul. It felt almost like a plaque which built up in my heart- like he hated me all over again. Almost as if his jealousy had possessed him like a madman. Now I was scared. 

Another part of me felt stupid, and sleep came to me in a rocky sense. But still, I slept, deeply reminiscing of Osamu's death. 

As I stretched after a wake up, I looked around the empty apartment and a shiver came over my body. So cold. dark. My body... it ached like nothing, as if someone had slit me in numerous places. "Yama?" I groaned, turning a light on.There I sat, soaked in the same red material that once covered inches of the floor. Except, this blood, it belonged to me. Again, that smell filled my nose and nauseated me. 

"Ya Ya . . . YAMA . . . G . . . get up!! YAMA!!" 

I shook my partner. For a split second he seemed lifeless. 

"Unnh? Ken? What's the matter? is there something wrong?" Yama sprung up from his warm pillow. "What did you do?" 

"I didn't do anything." 

Yama examined my cuts carefully, then looked down at my hand. in it was a sharply pointed jackknife. 

"It's not what...." I squeezed out painfully. I had no idea how it had come to be in my hand. I could have swore it wasn't there before. But Yama didn't know either, automatically thinking for the worst. 

"Ken," He began, springing up at immediate action. "Get your coat. The psychologist told me that if anything like this happened ever again that I should check you into the hospital to run tests. Maybe you don't remember it, but there's no other explanation." Yama was so quick to act. Almost like a time clock. Sweat was building up on his forehead (and mine as well). Damn my past. Damn it all to hell. 

Maybe my subconscious mind HAD done this. it was quite possible, judging my morbid disposition along with the painful past I had endured. 

So Yama checked me into the psych ward faster than anything. There I was in a padded room, alone for hours until finally, the door was opened. 

You're free to go, mister Ichijouji." Said a voice behind the vault door. Finally, I was freed from that confinement preceding hours upon hour. But who checked me out? Was it Yamato? Had he finally gotten some clues, or at least the police interaction needed in a time such as this? 

My inquiry was solved when I reached the reception desk. There, in the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital, stood a familiar face. 

Jyou Kido. A breathtakingly handsome and intelligent young man around the age of twenty two stood with clipboard in hand. Jyou greeted me with a handshake and a soft hug, then flipping his long cauliflower hair. He adjusted his glasses and then spoke. 

"Ken, I heard that there was a misunderstanding on Yama's part. I had tried to bail you out hours earlier, but your, ahem," Jyou lowered his voice. "unstable past delayed the checkout." 

********** 

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